


And I Remember Every Kiss

by itsavolcano



Series: The Framework Cannot Stop True Love (All It Can Do Is Delay It for a While) [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, post 4x15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10078703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: However long it takes, however many false starts, Jemma Simmons will get Leo Fitz back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I sat on this for two weeks until I finally sent it to dilkirani for a beta. I don't think the Framework works quite this way, but 'tis the way fanfic works, eh? All my thanks to dilkirani for the beta and the "HOW DARE YOU" when I sent her the song inspo.

_ There will be no kisses tonight _  
_ There will be no holding hands tonight _  
_ Cause what is now wasn't there before _  
_ And should not be _

**3.**

Leopold Fitz was a genius. Everyone told him so, from his father and former professors, to his business investors and numerous media outlets. In fact, he was a trending topic on Twitter and Facebook for the third consecutive day due to both the electric car prototype they’d just announced and the upcoming jet plane designs someone had (purposefully) left at a diner. He was on top of his world.

Without breaking his stride, he took in the various magazine covers along the hallway leading to his penthouse office. They all shouted his brilliance in bold block letters. Reaching up, he straightened a crooked black frame and gave it a grin. 

His day was effortless. He went from his high-rise apartment to his high-rise office. Then there were the lush dinner parties and fundraising events. Of course the notoriety came with a few troubles—he was often hounded by the paparazzi and there had been that failed kidnapping a few years back—but overall, his days ran smoothly. His schedule was organized and maintained by his meticulous executive assistant, Bridget. She couldn’t be more efficient if he programmed her and he chuckled at the thought. She managed everything, including his coffee and how he took it. There was a cup of black coffee on his desk every morning. Always coffee, never tea.

Something nagged at the edge of his mind like a distant memory. A woman lifting a kettle. He shrugged and the image evaporated.

With a swipe of his keycard, the glass door to his office opened smoothly and he stepped inside. Bridget had decorated the space to his father’s instructions, making it functional and easy to keep clean with its leather furniture and glass desk.

An internal call lit up the phone on his desk. He recognized the number for the comparative testing department and the seeds of anger took root at the base of his skull. No doubt, another mishap with one of the lab technicians. Just last week, someone had set fire to a workstation. While protocol had kept the fire from spreading, the damage was costly. If _his_ phone was ringing, that meant various managers, department leads, and a couple of vice presidents had been called in to assess the situation and had found no solution.

He dragged a hand down his face and groaned before lifting the the phone from its cradle.

“Hmm?” The voice on the other end nattered on but he could barely focus on the words, anger welling up… a broken drone, a contained explosion. 

“Look, this isn’t the first time this has happened within the department alone. While I don’t have the data in front of me, there’ve been a rather high volume of _explosions_ from your floor in the last few weeks.” He heard his voice raising and didn’t bother to stop it. “So I recommend _re-assessing_ both protocols _and_ the technicians overseeing those protocols. There seems to be a discrepancy. Or, you’re hiring _absolute idiots_ to work in your division. If another explosion or fire occurs, don’t call me—call the fire department, and then HR to submit your resignation.” 

Without waiting for a response, he slammed the phone. Hand-held devices were great, but they lacked the satisfaction of hanging up on someone. 

“Oh honestly, is that any reason to shout at an employee?” A woman—English, brunette and dressed in a smart pantsuit—stood next to the plush leather sofa against the far bank of windows. He jumped to his feet. “After all, who hasn’t caused a fire or small explosion in a lab before? I’ve lost count of the number of times _our_ lab has been blown to bits.”

“Who are you and how did you get in here, past the guards?” He lifted the phone to dial security but she moved closer until she was on the other side of his desk. “And did you say _our lab_ —as in _the two of us?_ ”

“Is that a water closet? Didn't notice it last time. Swanky.” She gestured to the relatively nondescript door behind him with one hand while casually disconnecting the call with the other. He reached for the mobile phone he kept in his breast pocket but it was gone—where had he left it? He never left his devices out of reach. 

“You know,” she cast an eye around the room and he backed away. “While I’ve said this all before, none of this really seems like you. Glass furniture, black leather. The private bathroom makes sense, because you’re squeamish—what with the cat liver incident—but the rest of this seems strange.” 

_Said this before? Cat liver?_ Her tone was precise, as if they'd shared a lifetime together, but he’d never seen this woman before. He certainly would have remembered. She didn’t seem the type of woman to blend in with the background. 

“Look, I apologize for whatever it is I’ve done… Left without calling, promised to send roses… I didn’t mean to lead you on, but—” He stopped, cut off by her glare. 

“Is that how it goes here, then?” She drew her mouth into a tight, flat line and he saw the first hint of anger in her eyes. “I assure you, _Leopold_ , I’m not a spurned lover.”

“Then if you’re a reporter looking for information on those leaked jet plane specs, you’re out of luck.”

“Please, I’ve seen it all before. Those specs are nothing new. Although the living quarters are larger. I’ll be sure to remind you of that so you can adjust the Zephyr accordingly. But, if I’m being honest it won’t matter, I'm rather looking forward to a long permanent holiday when this is all over.”

“When what's over?” He was more and more confused as she continued on, closing the distance between them.

“All of this. This life isn’t real.” She was speaking so gently now but blood rushed through his head at her claim. “Do you know what is real? Settling down in Perthshire.”

“Perthshire?” Frowning, his brain continued to whirl. “That's in Scotland.” _That's in Scotland._ Something flickered just out of frame—a sliver of light, a pinprick.

“I know where it is, Fitz.” No one had called him that since school. Her words sent a chill through him he couldn't understand.

“Do I know you?”

“Yes.” She held out a hand to him, eyes shining with sadness and hope. “You know me. Better than anyone.”

“How could that possibly be true if—” but he couldn’t finish his question, the words wouldn’t come.

She took a step closer, reached out to him, and he felt a vibration trip and tangle through his brain, travel down his spine, along his limbs. The bright light flickering at the edge of his vision turned to a black hole.

 

**7.**

Leopold Fitz was a genius. In fact, he was a trending topic on all of the important social media outlets. He couldn’t remember why, exactly. Probably something to do with the electric car prototype they announced, or the jet plane designs someone left at a diner. 

The magazine covers lined the hallway outside of his office, shouting his brilliance in block letters. He stopped to tap the corner of one, adjusting it just a bit—more out of habit than anything. 

His day was effortless—he went from his apartment to his office, then to dinner parties and fundraising events. His schedule was maintained by his executive assistant, Bridget. She couldn’t be more efficient if he programmed her, managing everything, down to his coffee. He wasn’t even certain he liked coffee, but she insisted. He could go for a nice cup of tea, though. With milk and sugar. 

There, at the edge of his mind, was a memory, distant, as if it no longer belonged to him… A woman lifting a tea kettle—he couldn't see her face. The image faded and he felt a phantom pain, grief for something that wasn’t his to grieve. He shook his head, exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, wasn’t certain he’d been sleeping at all, really. 

With a swipe of his keycard, the glass door to his office opened smoothly just as his desk phone rang. Another explosion downstairs. He groaned. 

“Again? Fine. OK. Just, make sure this is the last time or we’ll need to set up a department inquiry, you got it?”

“That’s a bit better than all that shouting you’ve been pulling lately.” Someone spoke and he spun backwards. A brunette woman with an English accent. She was standing so close to his desk, how had he missed her? How had she managed to get in here?

“What are you doing? You got past security.” It wasn’t a question. The moment felt familiar, as if they’d been here— _exactly here_ —countless times before. Panic climbed through his body but she didn’t seem to notice, walking closer. 

“And I’ll keep doing it too. I’m stubborn like that.”

“Who are you?”

“Always with the questions. Endlessly inquisitive.” _Achingly shy_. “Think, Fitz. This doesn’t seem right, does it? You know it isn’t—all this glossy paper and flattery. We’ve been in this moment seven times now—Daisy and I found a way to trip up the coding—and I’ll keep coming back however long it takes.”

“However long _what_ takes?” His frustration was growing. 

“Until you remember.”

Something heavy rested against the front of his brain, blocking his memories and he struggled to shift it. Pain radiated outward, knocking the breath from his lungs. A sharp, bright light flooded the space behind his eyes, and he doubled over. Then, just as quickly as it started, everything was dark. He felt nothing.

 

**12.**

Leopold Fitz was a genius and a trending topic. Creator of an electric car prototype and jet plane designs. Magazine covers lined the hallway, shouting. He lifted his hand to adjust a crooked frame but dropped his arm back down. They were all crooked.

High-rise apartment to high-rise office, then dinner parties and fundraising events. All in all, his days were rather mundane and scheduled by Bridget. It was like he’d programmed her—had he programmed her? She left him coffee on his desk but he preferred milky tea.

Something nagged at the edge of his mind. A memory, distant, as if it no longer belonged to him… A woman in white, lifting a tea kettle. He shrugged and the image evaporated. 

With a swipe of his keycard, the glass door to his office opened and he stepped inside. Bridget had decorated the space.

Someone called his desk phone—comparative testing department. Another mishap, another explosion.

He dragged a hand down his face. Groaned. Answered the phone but couldn’t focus on the voice on the other end of the line.

A woman with dark hair and amber eyes approached his desk as if she’d always belonged there. He couldn’t look away from her.

“I gotta go.” He dropped the call. The woman had yet to speak and was looking at him so fiercely he could feel a blush rising up his face. He wanted to fill the silence. “Where did you come from? How did you get past security?”

“That’s unimportant.” She was beautiful, but she looked drawn, exhausted. He moved closer to her, couldn’t resist. 

He knew her. No, that couldn’t be true. He would remember.

“Then what _is_?” He was watching her close the short distance.

“An object at rest remains at rest until acted on by an outside force.”

“Newton’s first law of motion? _Physics_?” Suddenly, he had the urge to reach out to her, to stroke her wrist, to take her hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I agree physics is important, of course I do, but—” He held up his hands, confused. 

“You see Newton’s laws still hold up, even in here.” Before he could begin to ask what that could possibly mean, she continued, “ _You_ are an object at rest. And _I_ am the outside force.”

He drew up short, his thoughts muddled with the implications. 

“Oh, honestly, not like _that_ , Fitz.” She rolled her eyes, despite the tears forming. His stomach dropped at the familiarity.

“Good to see some things never change.” A woman’s voice—different and _familiar_ —registered behind him as she stepped out from his private restroom. “You two nerds and your foreplay are so predictable. _Weird_ , but predictable.”

He whipped his head between the two women, hands held up in defense as they took cautious but assured steps closer. Was this an ambush? His father would never pay out kidnappers or terrorists… The woman with the amber eyes stepped closer. 

“This is for your own good. I promise. We’ve tried nearly _everything_ and I’m admittedly getting desperate.” Was she crying? What could _she_ possibly be upset about, he was the one being abducted...

Confused and struggling to turn around with a protest-turned-shout forming on his lips, he felt the sharp flat cut of a hand as it struck his neck in one quick move. Falling back against the pair, the English woman’s lips ghosted along the shell of his ear. She whispered a soft command. 

“Come back to me. ” _Come back to me._

For a moment, a bright light filled his vision and he was effused with a warmth, a sense of home. Then, everything went cold and he was engulfed in darkness.

 

**13.**

Leopold Fitz was trending. Magazine covers. Head bent, he walked on.

Schedule. Apartment, office, dinners, events. Programmed. Coffee on desk. No tea.

_Tea._

A memory clawed at the corner of his mind, like a nail scratching at curling wallpaper, letting in a pinprick of light. A woman in white lifting a tea kettle. Her dark hair hiding her face like a curtain. _If I wanted a boyfriend who agreed with me, I’d never have broken up with Milton._

He winced and swiped his card. The door opened.

Immediately, his eyes locked on a woman—brunette, beautiful, hair pulled back in a ponytail—standing inside the room as if she’d always belonged. 

“Security. Past security.” He gestured vaguely, out of sorts, tripping over thoughts. This wasn’t how his mornings usually went. Except he’d been here before. In this room, looking at this woman. “ _How_?”

She met his eye and the air left his body. _A red button. A scream. A window shattering._

“I have my ways.” 

He staggered, recognizing her voice. The woman with the tea kettle. 

“Who are you?” He stretched out in his mind, searching. She was on the tip of his tongue.

Amber eyes flashed bright, a fire flickering deep within her as she walked to him and he was transfixed. She reached for him and he let her. Her hands were cold against his skin, fingers dipping under his jaw. _Your hands are freezing_. He shuddered but she only stepped closer.

“This has gone on long enough. I’m going for the more direct approach,” she angled her body against his, “that always seems to work best with you anyway.”

With her head tilted, she looked up at him through lush eyelashes, waited for him to meet her halfway. He was drawn in. The call of a siren, he would dash upon the rocks. He moved forward, his body responding as if he had leaned down to kiss this woman dozens of times, as if he knew what it was to slant his lips along hers. She melted into him, a soft sigh escaping her throat, and he felt the tension leaving her body, felt it leaving his own.

The telephone on his desk rang. 

Lips sliding against lips, noses pressed to cheeks. _We can’t waste anymore time._ He wanted to tip her head back, run his fingers up into her hair until it was loose in his hands; he wanted to drink her in. _I’ve got something magnificent right here._ After a moment, she broke away, her hand resting at the side of his face, ghosting over the high plane of his cheekbone—a soothing gesture she’d done from their first kiss. _Their first kiss. In a lab. Against a workbench. And then again. Her lips coaxing so sweetly, refusing to let him go, refusing to let the frantic crush of his mouth be their only…_

“Jemma?”

She tipped her forehead to him, smiling. 

Warmth bloomed deep in him, flaring up and out. A pinprick of light grew into a blinding orb.

He exhaled.

“ _Jemma_.”

__

_ But I would never kiss anyone _  
_ Who doesn't burn me like the sun _  
_ And I remember every kiss _  
_ Like my first kiss _

_ And I will cherish every kiss _

  
(“And I Remember Every Kiss” by Jens Lekman)


End file.
